


Hit and Run - Part Two

by withoutaplease



Series: Hit and Run [2]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Smut, Underage Drinking, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-29
Updated: 2019-09-29
Packaged: 2020-11-07 14:37:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20818958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withoutaplease/pseuds/withoutaplease
Summary: First it's another accident, and then it's something else.Note: This is a timestamp series based on my drabble, Cherry Lane.Warnings: smoking, mention of drinking, language, smut, implied blackout sex, these characters are not eighteen yet, Billy is an asshole, questionable life choices





	Hit and Run - Part Two

_November 1, 1984_

This time, when you sensed light through your eyelids, you refused to even open them. You were thirsty enough to drink out of a gutter, but you were sure if you moved you would ralph. More power to all the keeners who were actually going to make it to school today _(who throws a rager on a weeknight?)_, but you knew you’d be lucky to even make it to the bathroom.

You shifted a little in bed and threw your forearm over your eyes, not sure whether you ought to try to remember last night or not. The party was one for the books, you remembered that much. Virtually the entire population of Hawkins High had descended upon Tina’s house with the singular mission to get as fucked right up as possible. Judging by your current state of shittiness, you’d done your part for the cause. 

It came back to you in flashes - shooting tequila in the kitchen, girls crying in the bathroom, couples making out on the sofas, morons doing keg stands outside, Billy Hargrove’s keg stand victory lap and all the idiots fawning over him . . . more shots of tequila. 

You didn’t mean to think about him, but if there was one place Billy knew how to be, it was in everybody’s face. That made it hard to forget things like accidents.

You were just drifting back into sweet unconsciousness when you felt a shift on the mattress, and somebody coughed.

Your eyes flew open, and you squinted against the light. Two things became apparent: this was not your bed, and someone else was in it with you.

“Ughh, I think I’m gonna hurl,” he said, and you didn’t have to look to know exactly who it was. Billy reached across the bed without opening his eyes, feeling for you. He found your hip and patted it. “No offense, sweetheart,” he said.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” you muttered, sliding away from his hand.. He propped himself up on his elbows and, wincing, opened his eyes to look at you. 

He snorted. “Hello,” he said, the beginnings of a shit-eating grin on his face. “Can’t say I was expecting you." He laughed until he coughed again. "Now I'm definitely gonna hurl."

"Fuck you," you said.

"All right, take it easy." He sat up and ran his fingers through the rats' nest of his hair, while you almost scowled hard enough to set Tina’s parents’ mattress on fire. "Didn't you tell me it wasn't gonna happen again?" he teased. "I think you were pretty specific about it."

“Shut up."

He grinned. “Yup, you said that, too.”

“Seriously,” you said, headache flaring. “Enough.” You rubbed your eyes, and your fingertips came away black with mascara. 

“Shit, what did I do this time?” he said. “Run over your dog?”

“Wait, you don’t remember?” you asked.

“Tragically, no.”

"Anything at all?

"Nothing to do with you."

“Neither do I,” you said. “Maybe nothing happened.”

“Yeah, okay,” he said. He flipped back the fancy floral bedspread and stood, flashing you his bare ass. “Those your panties?” he asked, pointing where a pair of your black lacys were dangling from the closet door. 

You frowned reached out from under the bedspread. He pulled them down, and threw them over his shoulder at you. “At least we were safe,” he said, picking up a clearly used condom and dangling it for you to see. Your stomach turned.

"God, _gross_," you said, trying not to gag. He tossed it aside.

“These yours too?” he asked, coming around to your side of the bed and holding out a handful of denim.

You nodded, and took your jeans to put them on beneath the cover, and tried not to let your eyes slide down to where Billy was still very noticeably naked. “You want to put some pants on??” you asked.

He made a wounded face. “Do you want my dick or not?” he asked, with mock confusion. “Because I’m getting some mixed messages.”

“I really don’t,” you said, grimacing.

Your bra came flying over. “Then I guess you’re just accident-prone.” You scowled, and put it on. Billy pulled his jeans up with a hop, and slung his jacket over his shoulder. "I’m opening the door, are you decent?”

"No, are you?" you said. "Where's your shirt?"

"Didn't bring one."

You snorted. "Yeah, that's normal."

"I’m not sure you’re the authority on normal," he said, pulling his boots on. He picked up your shirt from its heap near the door, and held it out to you. You reached for it, and he pulled it away again. Huffing, you crawled out from under the blanket, and snatched it out of his hand. He laughed. 

“Asshole,” you muttered, pulling your shirt over your head.

“You like it.” He reached for the doorknob. “My car’s here somewhere,” he said. “I can take you home.”

You thought about the walk ahead of you, long and thirsty and mostly uphill. Then you thought about how many other kids were probably waking up hungover just outside the bedroom door, and might be interested in who was walking out with Billy Hargrove. “I’d rather hitchhike.”

“Whatever,” he said. “I gotta piss.” He left, and closed the door behind him. You sat back on the bed.

"God damn it,” you whispered to yourself.

After a minute or two you stood, carefully, and let the room stop spinning. Giving Billy a head start, you looked around and tried to tidy up a bit, stalling for time. That was, until you found the condom hanging from a lampshade, gagged, and gave it up for a lost cause. 

_Let Tina deal with Tina's problems._ You seemed to be developing a problem of your own.

*****

_December 7, 1984_

You had just turned onto the backroad on your way home from school when you saw the Camaro pulled over, white smoke billowing up from under the hood, Billy futilely fanning it away with his arms. You softened your step, hoping to pass by unnoticed. The last thing you wanted was another confrontation.

As it turned out, you didn’t need to worry about the rumours. A few days after Tina’s party, Steve Harrington showed up at school with his face rearranged, and it was all anybody could talk about. Prevailing wisdom held that Billy was responsible, and folks were giving him a bit of a wider berth these days. You should have felt good. Vindicated. You didn’t.

You were just coming up on him when he reached gingerly into the engine, tapped the radiator cap, and then whipped his arm back, hissing. He shook his hand a few times and then sucked his burnt fingertips into his mouth, and that’s when he spotted you. 

“What are you looking at?” he spat, like you’d burned him yourself.

“Nothing,” you said, and made to keep walking.

“Hang on,” he said, calming himself. You stopped,warily, and he came over to you. “You got an extra smoke?”

You laughed dismissively. “Just the usual amount,” you said, and turned to go.

He grabbed your shoulder, not hard, but your instinct was to shrug him off and turn on him. “Don’t touch me,” you said, pointing a finger at him, and he stepped back.

“All right,” he said, palms raised. “What’s your problem?”

“I guess I don’t feel like getting my ass kicked today,” you replied.

He frowned. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“What you did to Steve. That was fucked up.”

He chuckled. “I didn’t realize you had the hots for him. He’s single, you know. You should go for it.”

You crossed your arms. “I don’t give a shit about him, I just try not to hang around with psychopaths.” 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said through his teeth. “There were extenuating circumstances.”

_So much for avoiding confrontation._ “Whatever,” you said. “I don’t even care.” You turned to leave again, and he huffed in frustration.

“Come on,” he called to your back. “I’ve been out all afternoon. I’m gonna chew my own arm off here.” You paused, and glanced back over your shoulder. “Have mercy,” he said, with almost-puppy-dog eyes. They worked.

You sighed, dug the pack out of your pocket, and held it out to him. “You owe me,” you warned, as he came up and took the cigarettes from your hand - carefully, not brushing your fingers. 

“I’m good for it.” He lit up, took a deep drag, and exhaled contentedly. “Thank you,” he said, only a little grudgingly, and handed the pack back over.

You stuffed it in your pocket. “Sure,” you said. “Good luck with the car.”

After you took a few steps in the direction of home, it became apparent he was following you. “Something else I can help you with?” you asked, irritated.

“It’s gonna take an hour to cool down, I’m not about to stand out here freezing my balls off.”

You couldn’t fault him on that point, it was cold enough to see your breath. You’d busted out the hat and scarf a week ago. “What makes you think I want to walk with you?” you asked.

“You’re free to say behind,” he replied testily, and you both kept walking.

A gust of icy wind kicked up, rattling the few remaining dried-up leaves still clinging to their branches. Billy flicked his cigarette butt away and jammed his fists into his pockets, sniffling. “It always get this cold here?” he asked, breaking a few minutes’ silence.

"This is nothing," you replied. "It hasn’t even snowed yet.”

“Can’t wait,” he said. 

You glanced over at him and noticed he was still in a t-shirt and denim jacket. "Right," you remembered. "You moved here from California. What’s that like?”

"Shitty," he said, and you chuckled.

"Fair enough. You ever even seen snow before?”

“Yes, I’ve seen snow before. Just never had to live in it.”

“It’s not that bad,” you said. “But you might want to think about getting a warmer jacket.”

“Yeah, thanks,” he snarked. “Wouldn’t have thought of that.” Then, "What about you? Born and raised in Hawkins, or what?”

You shook your head. "Born in Chicago, moved here with my mom when I was a kid."

“Why?”

“Because I was five, and she gave me no choice?”

He side-eyed you. “Why’d she move you, smartass?”

“I dunno, some bullshit about starting over.”

"What about your dad?"

You shrugged. "Left him in Chicago.”

“Ah,” he said. Then, almost inaudibly, "Must be nice.”

"What do you mean?"

"Never mind," he said, and lapsed back into silence. You walked a few minutes that way, just sniffling in the cold and watching the sun pierce through between fast-moving clouds. Whatever attack you seemed to be guarding against never came, and you started to relax.

Then you rounded a curve and hit _that_ patch of road, and suddenly you were all tension again. You pulled out your cigarettes and lit one, then offered one to Billy, carefully avoiding his gaze. If he noticed, he didn’t say anything. At least, not until you were around the next bend.

"So, how come you don't have a boyfriend?" he asked. You glared at him, surprised, and he grinned back. "Or _do_ you?" he continued, without waiting for you to speak. "Did you cheat on him with me?”

“Wow,” you said. “Just when I thought you could be civil.”

“Is that why you’ve been avoiding me? Because you feel guilty?"

"I’m not avoiding you,” you sputtered.

"That wasn't the question."

“Fine, I don’t have a boyfriend,” you said, exasperated.

“So why not?” he pressed. Then he gasped. “Are you into girls? Did I _convert_ you?" He looked entirely too pleased with himself, and you rolled your eyes at him.

“I like guys,” you said, “but I don’t need one. They’re never worth the trouble.” The two of you stepped off the backroad and onto Cherry Lane. “Full offense,” you added, and he laughed.

“That’s very women’s lib of you, but aren’t you -?”

“Lonely?” you supplied.

“I was gonna say _horny_,” he finished.

You scowled. “No,” you said, pointedly.

He raised his eyebrows. “Really? It sure seemed that way when you fucked me in the back of my car.”

You stumbled a little, stunned. “Well that's . . . out there now,” you said, when you recovered.

He stopped and stared at you. “Don’t tell me you don’t think about it.”

You felt your cheeks turn hot, and you picked up your pace past him. “It doesn’t matter, it was -”

“An accident,” he said, catching up with you. “I heard you the first ten times.” 

“Exactly,” you said.

Neither of you said anything for two blocks, until you closed up on Billy’s house. You muttered a _see ya_ and kept walking.

“Hey!” he called after you. 

You stopped and turned back to him, impatiently. “What, Billy? What now?”

“Folks aren’t home,” he said. “You want to come in for an hour? Do it on purpose?” He broke into a grin that you tried mightily to resist.

“Really? An hour?” you asked, suppressing a smile.

“Okay, half an hour,” he countered. 

In spite of yourself, you laughed.

“Yeah, you do,” he said. He grinned, and started to head inside.

_Fuck it._ You followed.

For someone so hellbent on standing out in the crowd, he had the most typical boy bedroom you’d ever seen, complete with titty posters on the wall and old stale smells of sweat and cologne in the air. Once the two of you were inside, he locked the door. Then he just stood there, looking at you.

"What?" you asked, after a few seconds' silence.

"I'm waiting."

"For what?"

“For your move,” he said. “I'm not supposed to touch you, remember?"

You grinned and shook your head. “Shut up,” you said, and kissed him. He kissed you back, soft and unhurried, and pulled you by the hips against him. He ran his hands up and under your sweater, and lifted it over your head. 

“You want me to call you names again?” he teased, while your arms were stuck over your head. “That get you going?”

_“No.”_

“Liar.”

“Shut up.”

He grinned. “Can’t help it, you’re hot when you’re mad.”

You huffed. “I could walk out of here right now.”

“But you won't,” he said, and pulled your sweater off your arms. Rather than admit he was right, you kissed him again. He walked you backwards, down into his bed, and landed on top with a thigh pressing your legs apart. You gasped, and he smirked. "Not horny, huh?" 

“Ehhh,” you said, shrugging slightly. “Bored, mostly.”

_“Excuse me?”_

“I came in here to see what’s so great about Billy Hargrove,” you said, shaking your head. “So far, he’s all talk.”

_That shut him up._

He got up on his knees and pulled his shirt off, then unbuckled his belt. Then he fell back onto you, kissing you hard enough to knock teeth, and hiking his knee up another inch. You moaned, muffled against his mouth. He bared his teeth in an almost-smile, and moved to take the rest of your clothes off. 

He paused when you were down to bra and panties, and he was busting out the front of his whiteys. He reached between your legs, and felt you through the cotton. “You’re really wet,” he said, teasing, like he didn’t have a spreading patch of precum on his shorts. 

“So, fuckin’ do something about it,” you replied. 

He grinned. “I like you,” he said.

You reached down, grabbed a handful of cotton-covered cock, and squeezed. “I don’t care,” you said. “Fuck me, already.”

He could follow directions, at least.

He watched your face as he slipped inside you, and where you had been all boiling, bubbling over, he simmered, controlled. He pressed you down with the weight of his chest and fucked you with hard, measured strokes, breathing curses in your ears and nipping at your bottom lip. You started bucking your hips back up against his thrusts, trying to deepen them or quicken them or _something_ to get you from almost at the brink to over, and he just grinned and kept right on pressing. He waited until the fight went out out of you, and you were moaning into his shoulder in whiny, wanton whimpers. Then he picked up one of your legs in the crook of his elbow, and slammed you until you screamed. He came with a grunt, and rolled off you, chuckling. _Smug son of a bitch,_ you thought, panting, and smiled.

“Listen, Billy,” you started, when you were getting dressed, and he was lying back on his pillow, smoking another of your cigarettes. “That was fun, but -”

“Save the _but_,” he interrupted. “It was fun, end of story. You seem like you could use a little fun in your life.”

You frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means maybe if you get your Twinkie creamed once in a while, you won’t be such a bitch all the time.”

You gasped, and glared at him, but he just laughed. “Just winding you up for next time,” he said, with a cheeseball grin. 

You could still hear him laughing to himself as you left.

*****

_December 10, 1984_

He was waiting for you when you stepped outside after school, offering a fresh pack of smokes and a lift home. You accepted both.


End file.
